


Those Words That Swallow This Empty Space

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [35]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Language, Light slash., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Lancelot graduates from the Police academy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this came quickly yesterday and I had to catch it before it left. Title from Sleepthief's awesome song Just Say It. Feedback would be love.

  
“What are you doing?”

The blinds that hung over the sliding glass door to the balcony were open despite the moon that lit the sky; fall had arrived and the air that circulated through the loft was crisp and as fresh as Los Angeles ever got. Arthur sat wearily at the table and cocked an eyebrow at the stacks of wrapped silver things that covered it, and after a moment picked one up and unwrapped it.

“Eating,” Lance answered him. He shoved one of the chicken tacos into his mouth and chewed quickly and noisily, taking a slug of beer as he did. Arthur worried briefly he’d choke, but then shoved the thought down and peeled the foil back from his own taco and took a bite.

“Where are these from?” he asked through a full mouth. “Tacos A Go-Go,” Lance answered him, food making his words thick. “Good, huh?”

They ate and Arthur nodded. “Yeah. But why so many?”

Lance shoved another unwrapped taco past his lips. “Hungry,” he shrugged. His hair was wild, Arthur noted, and Lance’s eyes were shadowed to the point of blackness. Finishing his taco, Arthur wiped his hands and laid them on his thighs and watched Lance as he continued to eat. It was quiet in the loft, except for the _suruss_ of breeze through the blinds – the wood things hitting the glass of the door softly, a crunching music that was oddly calming. The screen door was closed – but he could smell the ozone in the air, portend of a coming storm. He took a sip of the other beer that was sitting on the table, not sure if it was for him or one Lance had already drank from.

Arthur tapped his fingers on his legs and when Lance seemed to slow down – he’d eaten four big tacos without stopping – Arthur lifted his right hand and set it over Lance’s left, stilling the motion of his fingers with the weight of his hand. Lance looked up from his beer and tried to extricate his hand from Arthur’s, but Arthur wound his fingers into the other man’s and would not let go.

His mouth slowly dropping into one thin line, Lance’s eyes ticked from Arthur’s face to his beer and drank more, slowly this time. He licked his lips and stared at the mess from the taco foils that littered the table. Wind wound through the dining area from the open door and lifted his hair off his forehead; he hadn’t realized how sweaty he was. His polo was stuck to his back, and the thick belt he wore was cinched around his waist like a noose. He raised his gaze and met Arthur’s green eyes.

“It’s midnight, Lance. Why are you just now eating?”

“I told you. I was hungry. Why are you just now home?”

“There was a case I had mound of paperwork to approve. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Lance answered shortly, and tried again to pull his hand from Arthur’s. The other man wouldn’t let go. “Arthur,” Lance said after a moment. “I need to wash my hands.”

Arthur stood and tugged Lance with him, not letting go of the hand. “Come on, then,” he said, and walked with Lance to the kitchen, their hands joined until they reached the sink, Arthur letting go when Lance turned the tap on and washed his hands. Arthur did his as well – the new sandalwood soap smelled really good – and they both dried quickly. Lance tried to turn and leave the kitchen, but Arthur caught the back of his shirt with his hand and forced Lance to turn, the other man’s face crumpled and annoyed and eyes red and watery.

“What?” he said, his voice wavering and thick. “What, Arthur?”

“Come here,” Arthur answered in a voice just as low. He pulled Lance to him and they stood toe to toe, Arthur’s hands gripping Lance’s biceps, their eyes locked, Lance’s face draining slowly from red to pale and sniveling. Arthur’s left hand rose and touched the other man’s cheekbone, sharp enough to cut, strong, sensitive bones hard and inflexible under Arthur’s finger. Lance wavered slightly and leaned into the touch, his eyes blinking, the wetness in them sliding slowly down his face, escaping the trap of his lids and lashes.

The tiny light in the dining room carried to the kitchen, the shadows it created stretching out everything it lit into weird shapes and puzzles that hurt Arthur’s head to try and understand. He only wanted to understand the man in his arms, and the pain he seemed to never be able to let go of. Arthur sighed, a great shaking thing that made Lance’s face squinch and his eyes tear more as the movement forced him to lean further into Arthur’s hold.

He wrapped arms around Arthur’s button down clad torso and the other man slipped his own arms about Lance’s waist and slid his hands into the pockets of Lance’s khakis. The rounds of Lance’s buttocks were warm and familiar and Arthur squeezed, gripping and tugging Lance closer.

The touch was – Lance bit his lip until he tasted blood and tucked his face into Arthur’s stubbly neck, his lips pressing against the beating vein that rose to Arthur’s skull from his heart.

Arthur held on as tightly as he could and dropped his face to Lance’s hair and breathed in the scent of sweat, musk, and perfume oil that had a small smile decorating his face when he realized what scent it was. He kissed the other man’s temple and then his cheek and pulled back enough to press his mouth to Lance’s, briefly, a light brushing, feathered wings that fell apart with the wetness that still slipped down Lance’s skin.

“I’ll ask if you want me to,” he murmured as he then kissed Lance’s forehead.

“Ask,” Lance answered, and raised one hand to wipe his face. He kissed Arthur’s mouth and then his jaw, the tears slowly stopping as the wind blew through the trees outside and set Arthur’s wind chimes to tinkling. “Ask, and I’ll tell you.”

“What’s wrong, Lancelot?”

Lance extricated himself from Arthur’s grasp and walked back to the table, Arthur following him slowly. Lance pushed aside the detritus from their meal, stopping to take another swig of his beer before lifting a piece of paper from amidst the mess. He handed it to Arthur and waited, crossing his arms over his chest.

Arthur raised the paper to the light from the lamps in the dining room and read it.

“When did you get this?”

“Today,” Lance answered quietly. He’d stopped crying. Rubbing at the scar that slashed across his eyebrow, he looked at the ground and then up at Arthur, who’d lowered the paper. “I picked it up at the office after my last class.”

“When’s the ceremony?” Arthur felt guilty that he didn’t know, but working as much as he did had him not paying nearly as much attention to things that were happening at the academy as he’d like. “Don’t you need a suit for it? Shouldn’t it be soon?”

“It was yesterday,” Lance said and shrugged. “I don’t need anything for it.”

“Lance, fuck,” Arthur blew out his breath and let the anger and worry he always, always felt rear up and punch him in the gut, his brain throbbing with it and he shook his head, setting the paper that announced Lancelot Benoit’s graduation from the Los Angeles Police Academy with second to highest honors down. “You didn’t want to walk?”

“Why would I? I graduated; I don’t need to strut across a stage wearing a monkey suit to prove my status to anyone.” Lance turned and crossed to the couch, where he sat stiffly, still sweating as he leaned against the microfiber. He just couldn’t seem to cool off. “I celebrated with tacos.” He belched and smiled tightly. “And beer. That’s enough.”

Arthur’s work shoes struck the wooden floor with cracking force as he followed Lance to the couch and sat next to him. “I would have liked to have gone with you. And watched you cross that stage in your monkey suit. This is a big deal, Lancelot. The biggest. You did it. You did this – and you did it with pride and talent. Damn it!” Arthur slammed his fist down on his leg; Lance didn’t move. “This is the hugest deal of your life, Lance. And you didn’t walk? You just picked up the piece of paper?”

“This is _not_ the hugest deal of my life,” Lance turned to face Arthur, his face crimson and his hands clenched on his thighs. “There were other things. This is just the next step. It’s done.”

“What in the world could possibly be bigger than this?” Arthur was incredulous; his voice was shaking as he grabbed Lance’s knee and squeezed. He did _not_ understand Lancelot – and that scared the hell out of him. He swallowed roughly and watched as the red drained from Lance’s face slowly down his neck, the color dissipating under his blue polo.

“Meeting you was. Making us happen was. Getting to touch you with love was. This is just part of that. It’s for you, and it’s done, and I don’t need a celebration in front of other people to prove my devotion or to show me that I’ve taken the next step.” Lance spoke each word simply, biting off each syllable like they were pieces of the best candy in the world. “I get to have you. Finishing school isn’t a big deal at all.”

Arthur’s mouth slowly closed over the stupid words he was going to say.

_It’s for you, and it’s done._

“Jesus,” he whispered and blinked at Lance; he still held on to the other man’s knee, which was flexing in Arthur’s grip. The wind blew the blinds inward and the crunches the wood made against the glass forced both of them look toward the open door.

“I’ve told you before,” Lance went on, his eyes shining suddenly as he looked at Arthur again, his eyes coal in the darkness of the loft, “you are anything that is right in my life. I don’t need anything but you. I thought I’d lost that for a long time, and this, doing this,” he pointed at his polo shirt. “If doing this meant I got to get you back, well, it was worth anything.” He smiled and Arthur’s heart shattered, a dropped egg that splattered all over the floor, yolk running and shell destroyed and emptied.

“You don’t believe in it?” Arthur could barely get the words out.

“Of course I believe in it,” Lance answered him with the strongest conviction Arthur had ever heard in his voice. His smile twitched the right corner of his mouth. “I believe in what you do. I believe in the power of that,” he pointed at his gun case that sat on the floor near his feet. “I believe in doing right in order to make up for what I spent years doing wrong. I wouldn’t be able to fake it for too long if I didn’t. But I mostly believe in this,” he leaned forward and kissed Arthur’s slack lips. “And I believe that if a piece of paper makes me into the man you deserve to have, then so be it.” He wiped a hand over his face as Arthur finally let go of his knee. “I don’t need a ceremony to prove that. Here I am. This is all the celebration I need.”

Arthur couldn’t speak.

He was brilliant with words and could talk his way out of anything, and most of the time even when Lance was involved. But this – this was too much, and he felt as though he might split apart, atom by atom, at this admonition from a man he’d known for what felt like almost his whole life, and who’d never been this unselfish before.

Arthur didn’t deserve loyalty like that, and he opened his mouth, and he tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He tried again, and nothing came.

Lance shook his head and took Arthur’s hands in his. He squeezed and then let go with his left and raised it, sliding it into the hair at the base of Arthur’s neck, his body flush with Arthur’s as he slipped closer on the couch. The moon shone onto Lance’s face and Arthur choked back whatever unworthy thing he was trying to voice as Lance touched his temple to Arthur’s, their cheeks pressed together.

“I love you. I love you so much, I can’t begin to tell you. I can’t thank you enough for giving me the gift I have here in my hands,” Lance whispered. Arthur felt his eyes burn and he sucked the tears back, not willing to cry. He would not debase this moment by making it about him.

“Just say you love me, and that’s the only thing I need.”

Arthur pulled back from Lance’s embrace and took the other man’s face in his hands. He licked his lips and _don’t cry_ and he swallowed roughly. “Of course I do. I don’t love anything else in the whole world.”

Lance’s face lit from within and it was the most beautiful thing Arthur had seen in a long time.

“You want me to go put the monkey suit on now?”

The laugh that broke from Arthur was loud and real and Lance smiled and leaned into his chest, his hands weaving with Arthur’s, his lips pressing against the heart that beat strongly through Arthur’s skin.

*

Around 4 am Arthur got up to shower; Lance slept solidly on the bed, the crimson sheets and Egyptian cotton comforter thick and clean and Arthur stood at the foot of the bed, watching the other man shift and move a bit, as though he were dreaming. Arthur’s back was sore and his mouth ached and he could tell he’d pulled his shoulder during their sex somehow, but as he watched Lance he wondered at the possibility of being able to touch him enough, ever.

Arthur touched Lance’s foot, smoothing a finger down the instep, and Lance smiled softly, still asleep, and Arthur put a hand to his mouth and turned and went into the bathroom, closing the door so Lance wouldn’t wake from the sound of the water.

He slipped his boxers off and stood at the shower door, waiting for the water to heat up, and totally ignored the things that were buzzing in his brain.

He couldn’t absorb what Lance had said to him. He couldn’t deal with the devotion and pure selfless giving he’d heard in the other man’s words, and it was too much and he stepped into the shower, his muscles flinching as the hot water hit him, and he stood in the direct stream and he let the heat slice him open and he raised his hands to his face and buried it there, and he wept and let the water from the shower heads hide the tears from himself and from the truth he couldn’t face.

_I did this for you_

Arthur wept and hid his face until the water went cold and weak.


End file.
